


Love

by pipisafoat



Category: Rammstein
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-04
Updated: 2006-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reasons why Richard loves Paul....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilerish warning note at the end.

I am not the same person on these nights. We both go through a sort of transformation, Paul and I. He tends to become more submissive, more into feeling and enjoying the pain, more... well, more of everything that makes this kind of evening so different from all the others. I become the opposite of him, giving him pain to add to my pleasure, showing him the partner he needs every time to satisfy this other side of him.

In the beginning I was reluctant to try this for Paul. The last time I tried this for a lover, I couldn't reel the dominating presence back into me as easily as I thought I could. I really hurt Till with that. When he came back from recovering, it was obvious that he didn't want to try that again. Sadly enough, that was all he wanted from me at that point, so our relationship was completely over. Since I've turned to Paul, Till has realized he could have kept me and still been satisfied, but it is too late for him. Paul can control me when the darker side is fighting to stay out, and that's all that matters on these nights.

I slowly start to release my other self, controlling him so he doesn't bring destruction when he comes.

We love these nights. We love the way Paul gives in completely to our control, in a way that Till never could. We love the way Paul doesn't fight us off when he needs to come; he just hopes desperately we will allow him to do so.

We are more of the darker side than normal at this point, bringing out the suppressed self slowly to protect those around us from being subjected to the full beauty of us without warning.

We love the jealousy in Till's eyes when Paul takes off his shirt and unashamedly shows off his scars without a second thought. We love that even though Till turned us away, we affect him this much without so much as touching him.

Paul is the better partner for this, and it's obvious every time I come out to play. I lock the real Richard away from me now and let him enjoy the show.

I love the way Paul looks, stripping for me with an eager-to-please expression. He turns around as he eases his pants down, looking over his shoulder at me, wanting to see any positive reaction. I don't bother to give him the approval he so craves. His disappointment is obvious he slides the pants off and faces me again, displaying his hard cock proudly... as though I could miss it.

I love his obedience. As I rise from my seat to circle him, he kneels on the floor, sitting back on his heels. He barely flinches as I rake my fingernails down his back, leaving red lines to stand out sharply against his pale skin. I pause at the dresser behind him, reach in the top drawer, and pull out the handcuffs. He hears the clink as I grasp them and puts his hands behind him.

I love his silence as I bend over and cuff his wrists and ankles together without care for his comfort. I step in front of him, kicking his knees apart roughly, nearly sending him face-first to the floor. He catches himself with his head on my thigh and pushes upright, but not before nuzzling my crotch quite enthusiastically. He looks up at me adoringly when I backhand him across the face for his action.

I love his lack of protests when I grab him brutally by his hair and yank his head back. I glare at him harshly before shoving his head back to my crotch. Hesitantly, he rubs his cheek against my pants, but this only earns him a sharp kick to the ribs. A growl from deep in my throat warns him as he starts to mouth at my erection, making him attempt to sit back slightly in confusion.

I love how quickly he catches on with one hissed word, "buttons," as I remove my belt. He arches an eyebrow at me, meekly taking the slap of leather against his back which follows such insubordinate behavior. Struggling with the button and zipper on my pants, he makes this weird sound of surprise at every snap of the randomly timed whipping with my belt. He finally gets me undressed and sits back on his heels again, proud of his work. I flick the metal clasp of the belt sharply against his chest once before dropping it behind me and pulling out my erection. I step closer to him, rub the tip over his lips, and hold back a groan as his tongue darts out to lick the head. He gasps and opens his mouth, trying to no avail to take me in. I tease him a bit more, then pull back abruptly and kick the pants from around my ankles.

I love the way he struggles when I shove his shoulder without warning, sending him face-first into the threadbare rug with no way to catch himself. He throws his head back to protect his nose, but I'm sure he bit his tongue on impact. He can't get very comfortable because of the way he's handcuffed, so he does the best he can - chest and feet on the floor, cheek pressed into the carpet, ass pointing up at me as was my intent. I open the dresser drawer stocked specifically for these nights, pull out the lube, and slam the drawer shut. He jumps, trembling in anticipation of what might come next.

I love his needful whines as I thrust two barely lubricated fingers into his ass without warning. He rocks back against my hand, shifting uncomfortably as the handcuffs restrain his motion and cut into his skin. He whimpers as I brush his prostate, increasingly loud each time. I soon tire of this and return to the drawer.

I love the way his mouth opens wide as soon as he sees the gag, with no prompting from me. I reward him for his obedience by reaching between his legs and stroking his cock once, quickly. He bucks slightly into my hand, unable to control this basic reaction to the grasp, making me swallow a moan at the thought of how easy it is for me to arouse him. I want nothing more than to grind my own aching erection against his bare ass, but I pride myself on having more self-control than that. I reach into the drawer again and pull out the oldest and most-used item in there - the paddle.

I love his startled jerk when I smack his ass the first time. No matter how many times we swallow our real selves and play this out, he never expects the paddle. I use it almost every time, beating him soundly until his ass shines bright red and he tries desperately to find a way to get some friction on his leaking cock. My own erection throbs almost painfully, and I drop the paddle to the side and enter him without warning.

I love his ass – tight, but not overly so. It's perfect for me on these nights; it's the right tightness to feel great without hurting him too much. I grab his hips firmly, knowing I'll leave a bruise, but not caring. He tries unsuccessfully to rock back into my thrusts, making me contain my groans lest he realize how much he affects me. Somehow I reign in my arousal and pull out, making him moan in loss even as I'm releasing him from the handcuffs. He pushes himself up onto all fours and waits impatiently

I love that he never attempts to remove his gag or give himself the small amount of pleasure he needs to come. He knows that if he did either of those, the night would be over and would never be repeated, not to mention what I would do to him for not obeying my wishes. As I slide back in him and start fucking in earnest, he only pushes back against me, meeting every thrust and begging for more, harder, faster, deeper as well as he can around the gag. I do as he asks, loving the desperate sounds that pour out of his mouth and arouse me more. I can't hold my pleasure back much longer, but I refuse to come before he. Still biting back my cries, I finally reach around his waist, roughly grabbing his cock and jerking fast.

I love the way his hips slam back against me solidly as he comes hard, spilling into my hand and onto the floor. His ass tightens impossibly over my cock and pulls me over the edge with him, as it does every time. I don't know if I come silently or scream his name, but whatever I say can't be too coherent. His arms tremble as I collapse on top of him, satiated. I am happy, for now, and allow Richard to come back slowly as I recede, fulfilled, into the depths of our mind.

We love the seamless change that follows our explosions. We slowly fall off Paul's back and onto the floor beside him. He removes his gag, unsteadily stands up, and somehow pulls us onto the bed with him.

We are beginning to feel remorse for having hit him so hard. The welts on his back are raised bumps to our wandering fingers as we try to determine how much damage we did while the suppressed self was in control.

We love the hiss as Paul flinches away and whispers to us, "I'll remember tonight until the next time we are together, Master. Thank you for hurting me. Richard, I'll be fine. Don't worry about it. Just come back to me."

With that reassurance that he wouldn't be forgotten while I was in charge, the suppressed self finally sinks back in the dark recesses of my mind, leaving me in relative peace. I am in control of myself again.

I love that we remembered to put a towel on the bed earlier today in preparation for this moment. Paul cleans us both up and pulls a sheet over us. He wraps me into a tight hug as I lay my head on his chest and snuggle closer. He murmurs nonsense into my hair as he strokes my back soothingly. "Thank you, Richard. Go to sleep, you've done enough tonight, sleep," he whispers, knowing I wouldn't be cuddling up to him if I wasn't completely in charge again. "You're okay, it's safe to sleep now."

I love that this happens every Saturday night between us. I love that every other night of the week, Paul makes love to me and we fall asleep in each other's arms, secure in the knowledge that my darker side was satisfied just days ago. It is safe for the rest of the week to just hold Paul and pretend I never have to worry about losing myself in the wrath of a darker me. I love that safety as much as I love anything else about our relationship

But the last thought I always have before I fall asleep is this: I love you more than I love the sex, Paul Landers, and I love that you know how deeply I love you without me having to tell you at all.

**Author's Note:**

> When this was originally posted, it came with a warning of "multiple personality disorder" - and while I wouldn't say that's totally wrong (is very open for interpretation, this six-year-old fic), I don't know what _is_ right, so. Some sort of extra Dom-ish persona that acts like a different person.


End file.
